Hips
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Leia weathers the long, tedious process of building a new galactic order after the fall of the Empire. Han's there to help her decompress, and anchor her to a tangible reason she's fighting. Some flirting, some explicit, er, "flirting." NSFW. Post ROTJ.


_a/n: just a thing, set after ROTJ. no particular context - Leia building a democracy, and Han right there with her._

* * *

 ** _Hips_**

* * *

These bloody post-war days were heartbreaking; the work that went into building a New Republic was grueling – and Leia, who had once found herself thrust into battles and bloodbaths while frantically thinking to herself, _I'm a politician, not a soldier!_ – now found herself out of sorts at long, exhausting political conferences during which she thought – _I'm a soldier, not a politician!_

She shook her head briskly, loosening pins from her hair as she stumbled up the ramp of the _Falcon_ , tired, her mind wiped blank, seeking solace and laziness and the kind of devil-may-care, unencumbered bliss that Han always provided.

She found him in his bunk, already half-disrobed from the day – the military uniform he hated, and barely took care of, was wrinkled and tossed on the floor, and he reclined on the bunk with two pillows under his head, bloodstripe trousers slung low on his hips, chest bare, one leg drawn up –

The hazy, buzzing chatter of a Smashball game sizzled out from an old radio on his desk, and he looked over at her blearily, lowering a repair manual from his face.

Leia made a dramatic show of slipping off her heels, unfastening the ceremonial cape she'd been wearing, loosening her braids, and tumbling onto the bunk next to him, letting her head fall heavily right around his ribs.

She wrapped an arm around his waist and sighed, her nose level with his navel.

"Who's winning?" she asked.

He laid the manual on his chest and reached down to finish unbraiding her hair. He grunted, unconcerned with the game – it had just been background noise – and shrugged.

"Rough day?"

"Aggravating," Leia murmured, cozying up to him, relaxing to the feeling of his hands in her hair.

She clicked her tongue.

"Yet another round of ceaseless discussions on how to persuade the galactic population to act in their own interests."

Han snorted.

"It's as if they want to doom themselves," she lamented.

"Ain't that why you fought? Freedom of choice?"

Leia nodded, hardly missing a beat –

"Yes, the definition of Democracy is giving sentient beings the right to royally fuck themselves and then blame it on the government."

"Careful, Sweetheart, you sound cynical."

Leia turned her head, and rested her chin on his ribs, blinking up at him lazily.

"It's so much circumlocution," she murmured. "I miss action."

Han stroked his thumb down her jaw, and swept it across her lower lip.

"Take a few days off," he suggested. He sat up a little, supporting his weight on his elbows.

Leia shifted around. She turned onto her back and stretched out next to him, nudging his head so she had room on the pillow, too.

"Days off? What are those?" she feigned confusion.

"These things where you run off with a painfully handsome guy to some beach, and you don't pack any clothes, you just run around naked and let 'im tack you to a mattress for mos' of the day."

"'Tack me to a mattress,'" Leia repeated, arching a brow.

"Or a kitchen counter or a sand dune, painfully handsome guy is not picky."

She laughed, tilting her head back.

"' _Tack me to a mattress_ ,'" she repeated, biting back another quiet laugh. "What ribald smuggler terminology is that?"

"You want romance?" he muttered. "Fine, I'll tack you to a bed of roses."

She rolled to her side and slid her hand over his neck and into his hair, a smile bursting over her lips.

"Hey, hotshot, it's not the surface that's unromantic," she teased.

"Hmm," he mumbled. "It's the tacking?"

She nodded, pursing her lips.

"Try again," she coaxed sweetly.

Han shifted, grabbing the manual he'd laid on his chest and closing it, shoving it to the side and pushing it half under his pillow. He pretended to seriously think about it –

"Knock the bottom out of you," he drawled roguishly.

Leia gave a faint noise of mock outrage.

"What kind of girl do you think I am?"

Han laughed.

"One who could use a few days of somethin' real improper."

Leia smirked and tapped her fingers against his head, brushing them through his hair. She pulled back and propped her head up on her palm, fingers skating over his jaw and down to his chest.

"You may be right," she sighed. "This reconstruction work is exhausting."

Han gave her a solemn, teasing look.

"Did you make important strides for the good of all living beings today, Your Highness?" he asked, mocking something she'd said earlier this week, when she was in one of her more serious moods, and every carefree thing Han did irritated her.

Leia blinked slowly.

"I hardly remember," she said lightly. "I've become so mind-numbingly bored by the repetitive periphrases that for the latter half of today, I utterly zoned out and spent most of the afternoon thinking about how you feel between my thighs."

He gave her a dull look, dropping his eyelids pointedly to convey how boring he found the bulk of her work – then blinked, lifting his head sharply.

"Hang on, you – what?" he stammered.

He narrowed his eyes alertly.

Leia made a show of shaking her head neatly, lifting her shoulder daintily, frowning as if she were utterly disturbed with herself, and breathing out in a very ladylike manner.

"I know," she lamented. "I am quite the trollop."

"A _what_?"

"That's princess terminology for unrepentant whore."

"Whores get paid, Leia."

Leia gave him a sleek look.

"You're incredibly indebted to me, then," she said flippantly.

Han grinned, amused. He turned towards her, reaching out to brush a hand over her hip.

"What else were you thinkin' about?" he asked huskily, lifting his brows suggestively.

Leia dipped her head a little, biting her lower lip. Her brow furrowed thoughtfully.

" _That_ , for the most part," she murmured. "I fixated on it."

Han moved closer, nudging her chin with his nose, pressing a soft kiss to her jaw.

"How I feel…between your thighs?" he asked in her ear.

Leia nodded, wordless for a moment. She ran her tongue along her lower lip.

"The weight of you," she whispered.

She sounded a little intoxicated. She took a deep breath. Han watched her face for a moment, and then shifted onto his side, rolling over top of her easily, hips bearing down on hers. She tilted her head back and sighed, nodding.

"Like this?"

"Like that," she agreed.

He moved a little, resting his knee against the inside of her thigh, and she pulled her foot up, pointing her toes down against the bunk. She opened her eyes, blinking up at the metal above them for a moment, and then adjusting, to look at him. She ran her hands over his chest and smiled faintly.

He drew his hand down her side, and started gathering up the material of her lightweight dress in his fist, tucking it into his knuckles and pushing it up, tugging and twisting at the material to get it past the resistance he encountered. Leia arched her hips up to make it easier on him.

He leaned down to kiss her.

"Aren't I heavy?" he mumbled.

She nodded, clasping his neck in her small hands.

"I like it."

"What's so good about it?"

She let out a breath quietly, and shrugged. She didn't know. She couldn't really define it. He was warm; he was strong, yet it never felt like he was holding her down –

"Anticipation," she decided finally, her voice soft and sultry. "I know," she sang, tilting her head to nip at his hear, "what you're going to do," – another soft, teasing nip – "next."

He was already fumbling with her underwear, and the clasp and zipper at his own waistband, trying to hold on to her with one hand, shaking near her brow, brushing at her hair, and arrange everything beneath her skirts with the other. He shifted forward, pushing his knee against her thigh to give him more space. His fingers brushed against her and he half-closed his eyes, gritting his teeth.

He took a deep breath, moved his knuckles against her a few times, stroking until she tilted her head back and gave him a gasping, moaning sound of approval that assured him it wouldn't be uncomfortable if he kept going. He pushed his hand under her dress, gasping her hip, and pulled her up towards him, moving inside her slowly.

Leia's hands slipped on his chest, grappling for something to twist into, and she parted her lips in silent approval, her fingers ultimately falling to his hips and digging into his waistband. He stayed there a moment, giving her that heavy, intimate press of his hips hard against hers, and she lifted her knee up, taking in a few slow, easy breaths.

He braced one palm next to her shoulder and wrapped the other around her knee, easing back, and pushing into her again – a firm, slow thrust that she angled her body up towards desperately, tightening her muscles around him- Han groaned softly and bowed his head – all of the clothing barely moved aside between them was somehow – a tangled nightmare, and a pleasant source of friction –

Leia arched her back and let one of her hands fall to her stomach, moving it down to twist the airy material of her dress in her hand and then press it against herself. She hooked her thumb through one of his belt loops and pulled on his hips encouragingly.

Han shoved one of his knees into the bunk next to her thigh and grasped her shoulder tightly, his eyes sliding closed – Leia's hand moved aggressively between them; he could feel the twist and flutter of her knuckles against his navel as he set an increasingly urgent, hard rhythm inside her, his thought process disintegrating by the second – he dropped his head to her neck, pressing his lips against her skin, his breath coming in short, heavy gasps –

Leia gasped and cried out, her hands twisting away from her hips – their hips – and flying up to his shoulders, his neck, nails pricking into his skin – she tossed her head back, closed her eyes, arched her back, and he lifted his head to watch her, seized by a selfish relief that she'd gotten herself there already, because he wasn't going to last much longer – aroused even more by the privilege of watching her, hearing her – " _Yes, yes, yes,"_ she gasped breathily _– "Han – Han –I'm – I'm-"_

"What, Sweetheart?" he mumbled, his abdomen tightening with every hard push of his hips against hers – damn, she felt good, she felt so unbelievably good – Leia's face flushed, soft pink, she bit at her lip – _"I'm coming, I'm coming,"_ she murmured – she knew how much he liked to hear her say it –

Han closed his eyes – he pushed her knee up higher against his hip, holding his rhythm as steady as he could, until it seemed Leia was catching her breath, running her hands over her face, moaning softly, and then he drew back and buried himself in her hard, making sure his hips settled over hers just right, nearly collapsing on her, his teeth scraping her shoulder lightly – _fuck_ – he mouthed the word, speechless, and Leia rested her hand on the back of his head, gripping his hair loosely, smoothing her palm over his neck and the back of his shoulders.

She closed her eyes lightly, pressing her hand against the _tighten_ and _shudder_ of his muscles, every part of her humming and alive, and she wrapped an arm around his waist and anchored him to her as he relaxed.

Lips replaced teeth on her shoulder, and he kissed her, resting his head heavily in her neck for a moment, breathing in and out roughly, but quietly. He shifted, easing the pressure of his hips for a brief moment, and resting on her again; Leia sighed, her hands relaxing to her sides.

Despite her apparent desire for it, he still felt wary resting his weight on her for too long, and he shifted gingerly to the side, reaching down to pull his trousers up, forgoing the zipper, so they hung more comfortably. Leia relaxed her knee a little, and tilted her head up, plucking at the wrinkled clothing around her hips.

Han rested his head on the pillow, recovering his breath, eyes-half opened, listening to Leia move around next to him – and when he blinked his eyes open, she was holding up, hooked around her smallest finger, ripped white cotton, and giving him a mildly reprimanding look –

Han grinned, licking his lips, and mumbled a husky apology – he'd though it too much an effort in acrobatics to get her panties down and over her knees, and in his inelegant effort in shoving them aside he must have – well, they ought to be stitched with more resilience, anyway.

Leia turned a little, and tossed them to the floor with his military jacket, turning on her side to curl up with him.

"I suppose we might have taken our clothes off," she quipped softly, smoothing her gown over her hips – it tangled and fell oddly around her legs, caught up and pressed between her thighs, and she ran her fingers over it, pursing her lips.

Han rested is hand lazily on her hip, smirking.

"Waste of time," he growled.

"I thought I might wear this again this week," Leia murmured. "I'll have to have it dry cleaned."

Han shrugged, and shot her an impish look.

"Nah, wear it anyway," he suggested.

Leia clicked her tongue, resting her head on her arm.

"Tawdry," she whispered.

"Me?" he retorted, feigning innocence. "You're the one thinkin' about sex during official meetings."

Leia laughed. She sighed, closed her eyes, moved closer to him – tangled her legs up in him, brushed her knuckles against his still stuttering heart, resting his nose against his chest, and breathing in his scent.

"I was thinking about _you,"_ she murmured emphatically.

"You sayin' I'm more important than intergalactic freedom?"

Leia pressed her body against his, fitting her curves into the parts of him that felt like they were made for her, and her alone, and she shrugged lightly, giving no immediate response.

"I'm so tired, Han," she sighed quietly. "I feel _mechanical_."

"You need a few days off," he said gruffly, repeating his earlier suggestion.

"We _all_ do," she answered earnestly. "This _freedom_ building business, it's a yoke."

He pondered that carefully, turning his forehead against hers.

"Take a break," he mumbled at her.

"I don't have time," she mumbled back, with the same inflection.

She looked up, smiling blithely.

"I have _you_."

Han smiled at her, his brows going up, and Leia brushed his hair back.

"Sometimes," she breathed, "I only feel like a living, breathing woman when I feel your hips on mine."

Her hand stilled in his hair, and she looked at him for a long moment – eyes intent and thoughtful, lips pursed – and then she cringed, and started laughing, bowing her head and glancing up at him through thick, dark lashes.

"I don't know why I said that."

Han laughed shortly.

"Bet it's 'cause you're a living, breathing woman," he retorted.

"I've never been _mawkish_ ," she argued softly.

Han shook his head affectionately – no, she hadn't, and he'd never been with a woman who used words like _mawkish –_ which he figured meant _sappy,_ and he forgave her for the sentiment, because hell, more often than not, Leia made him feel more sentimental than he ever wanted to admit.

He sighed, and shoved his head into her neck, affecting a dramatic tone –

"Well, Your Highness, I'm more'n happy to come lie on top of you when you're feelin' stressed," he drawled.

She started laughing, taking his jaw in her hands, her face closed to his.

"You _do_ take the weight off my shoulders," she quipped affectionately.

He wrapped his palm around her hip and pressed her against him firmly.

"Mm-hmm," he mumbled gruffly. "What do I owe you for this evening, _trollop_?" he joked wickedly, and Leia shoved her foot against his shin, trying to bite back a smirk of amusement.

She tugged on his hair.

"You owe me the rest of your life, _honey_ ," she threatened, but the sentiment underneath was real, and Han slipped his arm around her tightly, yawning.

"Sure," he said easily, grumbling through the yawn. "It's yours."

He swallowed comfortably and settled down, his head lolling a little sleepily, and Leia watched him, her lips ticking up at the corner in a delighted, peaceful smile – she was so sure of her love for him, more sure of that than anything else right now – loved his voice, his hips, his hands, his mind – and he gave her a reason to hope that in these coming days, she could be more than a soldier, or a politician – that she might be able to call herself wife, mother – _happy._

* * *

 _you know, i came out here to write a smut ficlet, and i am honestly feeling so attacked by depth right now - aka, I always try to write some light down and dirty, but it always turns into emotional sludge (I mean that in a positive way)_

 _-alexandra_  
 _story #346_


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